


Refusal

by ewinfic



Series: Remote [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anger, Angst, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Fear Play, Humiliation, Improvised Sex Toys, M/M, Soulmates, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewinfic/pseuds/ewinfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourth part of the Remote series, where Steve and Bucky are telepathic soulmates:  Steve and Bucky have complimentary strengths and weaknesses, for the most part.  But Bucky has one problem that has the capacity to be dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refusal

**Author's Note:**

> I used the noncon warning to be as safe as possible, but this is more like dubcon. It gets rough and very very explicit (see tags); please read with caution!

The life Bucky shared with Steve could be a bit paradoxical, from time to time.

It was no secret between them that Steve had always been the brains of the operation, though Bucky knew he held his own, at least some of the time. During missions, they were roughly equivalent. But at home, Steve's natural intelligence and adaptability beat Bucky's time and time again.

It seemed to be the little things that defeated Bucky. Cooking on modern appliances baffled him. Then again, he had never been much of a cook. He'd never been much of a housekeeper either, and while he admired how easily the modern washing machine and dryer took care of their laundry, he couldn't run either of the damn things. Television irritated him, and he was mystified by the content. He missed radio. Radio in the new century seemed to be nothing but ads and occasional music. Bucky had the advantage there. He liked contemporary music, he thought it was enthusiastic and fun; Steve hated it and still played old music whenever he could (on their stereo with the iPod dock, which Bucky had no idea how to operate).

Bucky also had the advantage on Steve when it came to weaponry and computers, at least insofar as his training had taken him. Computer skills had been necessary in his line of work. He could even do research on the internet, and had a few hacking tricks. But Steve was more comfortable using social media; he fit into the culture of the web more easily than Bucky did. Bucky couldn't understand what could possibly be interesting about a constant stream of cat photographs, and he came nowhere close to comprehending why so many of the arguments on the internet were so ignorant of facts when facts were so readily available on the same internet.

Steve liked modern clothing, movies, vehicles, and people more than Bucky did. Bucky constantly felt out of place.

In a way, though, Bucky was glad that Steve fit into modern life more easily, because it mattered more to Steve. Bucky could take or leave the modern age, so long as he could call his mind and his will his own. But Steve fretted over anything he couldn't adapt to, so it was just as well he had a gift for it. Or perhaps his gifts abetted the fretting. Bucky couldn't be sure.

On one point they were in ready agreement: modern attitudes about sex were far superior to what they were in the 1940s. The kind of relationship they shared now wouldn't have been possible then. They might have taken part in some sexual experimentation, always followed by deep wells of shame and avoidance, but it would never have occurred to either of them to be an actual couple. These days the idea that they would share a life together was practically assumed, given that they were soulmates.

Steve had the advantage on Bucky when it came to fitting into modern life and culture. But when it came to sex... Bucky won the most points every time. He had always been charming and an inveterate flirt. Sexuality was a more natural playground for him than it was for Steve.

As a result, their life was subject to a strange sort of switching mechanism. Bucky thought of it as the difference between day and night: during the day, Captain America was the boss, but at night, Bucky was the one in charge, and he wasn't afraid to let Steve know that. Bucky wasn't sure why he felt the need to be so dominant in bed. He just knew that was his place, somehow; and Steve agreed with an alacrity that surprised them both.

Bucky didn't count the sessions with Natasha as a part of their regular sex life, and he didn't think Steve did, either. Those nights weren't really about sex. If they had been, Banner would probably have had a slight issue with it. Those nights were about penance, and Bucky's own submission to it.

All the other nights, Bucky owned Steve's ass. He made his point far less violently than Natasha did, but he made it thoroughly and frequently, and the link ensured that he could push Steve's boundaries to an extent that nearly frightened him. Not enough to stop, of course. But enough to consider the implications, and explore cautiously.

Those cautious explorations ensured that Steve was at least somewhat prepared, the first time he had to leave Bucky at home during a mission. That was problematic. As far as Bucky was concerned, they were a _team_. If Steve was out on a mission, it was Bucky's duty to be by his side, and Steve mostly agreed. Given that they were destroying Hydra outposts, Bucky felt he was uniquely qualified to be on point. But sometimes both Fury and Steve decided that Bucky didn't need to be involved; this typically happened when there was an undercover element to the task. Bucky's arm made undercover work difficult. His tendency to blank out all emotion and turn into a killing machine at odd intervals made it an even worse idea, though Steve did his best to hide those times. And while Steve wasn't a great actor, Bucky was even worse. So there were times when the obvious choice was to leave Bucky at home.

Bucky didn't deal very well with being left at home.

He knew it was immature, he knew it was not helpful, he knew it was frankly stupid, but that didn't matter... when Steve was working without him, Bucky sat and stewed in a vat of anger and resentful frustration. Sometimes he had to wait for over a day for Steve to get back. When those times happened, he often greeted Steve with unusually rough sex.

Once, he had to wait three days.

* * *

Steve could barely unlock the door. His stomach was jumping worse than it ever did at the beginning of a mission; this wasn't just nerves, it was terror on some level he'd never felt before. Sheer bodily fear made a wreck of his coordination. He stumbled as he opened the door and came in, and he knew his shoulders were hunched like those of a dog fearing a beating.

It had been three days. Steve could still remember the soreness from the last time he'd left Bucky for only one day; he couldn't imagine what was going to happen now.

The worst of it was knowing that his own fear wouldn't save him, no matter how deeply he let Bucky feel it. Because Bucky could dig in deeper, and feel something else that Steve didn't even like to admit to: desperate anticipation. Whatever it was that Bucky was likely to do to him, Steve wanted it. He silently cursed the fact that Bucky knew that.

The apartment was dark and silent. The only light came from a single fixture in the hallway. Steve crept in, shutting the door quietly behind him, and looked around the living room. Nobody. He went down the hallway to the bedroom; nobody. Steve was puzzled. Perhaps Bucky had actually gone out and found something constructive to do? Steve couldn't imagine what that would be... he went back down the hallway to the kitchen. He stopped at the doorway.

Bucky was leaning against a counter, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted down so that his hair shadowed his eyes. All Steve could see of them were two faint glimmers in the darkness. They focused on him, and he felt all of his guts sink. Steve felt their link sliding into place, but something was definitely wrong; Bucky felt emotionally shut off. He wasn't quite in one of his murderous moods, but he was close.

They stood there until Steve realized that Bucky was going to make Steve make the first move. Steve cleared his throat. "Hi."

"How was it." Bucky's voice was like frozen steel, and completely uninterested in the answer to the question.

"Not bad. Um. How were things while I was gone?"

"Things?" Bucky seemed to grow taller without quite moving. "See, that's the thing, Steve. The _things_ in your apartment were just fine. Because they are _things_. Maybe you should ask about the _person_ who was left here while you were gone."

Steve sighed.

"What's that?" Bucky said, sharply.

"I didn't say anything."

"And you're not going to, either. Get your ass over here."

Steve reluctantly stepped toward Bucky, feeling completely cowed and strangely vulnerable. He couldn't help glancing around the kitchen; surely Bucky didn't mean to have him right here...? Before he could complete the thought, Bucky reached for him and metal fingers clenched a handful of Steve's hair, pulling it brutally as Bucky yanked Steve close. Bucky's other hand gripped Steve's shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise as their bodies pressed together. Steve thought that they might kiss, but that didn't happen... Bucky roughly turned Steve instead so that Steve's back was pressed against Bucky's front. Steve shivered, and then his head was pulled sharply back, baring his neck; Bucky pressed his face into Steve's neck and breathed in. Steve realized that Bucky was _smelling_ him, and his knees went weak. Bucky breathed Steve in for a moment, and then abruptly his teeth dug into the muscles at the base of Steve's neck, right where it met the shoulder. Steve's eyes closed and he gasped. His cock was swelling in his pants, and Bucky knew it.

_I missed you, Buck._

Steve felt the thought rebuffed like a slap. Bucky roughly turned him again, and then they were kissing, Bucky's mouth practically crushing Steve's, teeth scraping together as Bucky shoved his hand down Steve's pants and viciously pinched the tip of Steve's cock. Steve whimpered, and tried again to seek his way into Bucky's mind. All he could feel were the edges of a vast maelstrom of emotion, none of which was transmitted through Bucky's hard hands and mouth. He grabbed at the edge of the counter, and his hand brushed a canister sitting there. The size and weight of it felt like... Steve felt himself go pale.

_Bucky, please, no._

Bucky chuckled, low and throaty. There was no humor in it; it sounded cruel. He let go of Steve so suddenly that Steve nearly fell. "Put your hands flat on the countertop." Steve complied, shaking. He looked down to confirm what he had feared; it was a can of Crisco.

Such innocuous, innocent, evil stuff.

Bucky yanked Steve's pants and underwear down in a single rough motion, the fabric rasping harshly against Steve's cock as it passed. Steve dropped his head and tried to keep his breathing even. His cock was still achingly hard, and when Bucky's hands roughly traveled over his body, even the bruising power in them was so much better than it had been to be separated from him... his thought was interrupted and his mouth went dry as he felt a nudging presence against his naked ass. Bucky's hand was suddenly in front of his mouth.

"Spit," Bucky ordered.

Steve tried to work up some spit in his mouth. "But there's..."

"Don't worry about it, we'll be using it in a minute. For now, this is all you get. Spit."

Steve desperately worked up some saliva and spit it into Bucky's waiting palm. Bucky pulled his hand back, and Steve closed his eyes, waiting, waiting...

What finally breached him was not Bucky's cock. Steve couldn't tell what it was, but it was hard and cold and just barely slick, and Bucky was pressing it cruelly in and down. Steve cursed and went rigid as the implement found his prostate and all but crushed it. And that was all. It didn't move for long seconds, and finally he groaned and his head dropped to the counter. He moved his hips, a little desperately, trying to relieve the pressure. The moment he did it, he felt a hint of satisfaction from Bucky. So Bucky wanted him to... Steve felt his face go red. Bucky's satisfaction broadened into smug pleasure. Steve gritted his teeth and began to do what Bucky wanted... to slowly fuck himself against whatever it was Bucky had inserted into him.

The humiliation was sharp and Steve leaned down to the counter to hide his face against his arm, but he couldn't hide how it felt. His cock was bobbing as he moved, and he felt a tiny stripe of wetness as it leaked the evidence of his arousal against his thigh. Metal fingers clenched in his hair again, pulling his head up.

 _Show me how much you love this._ The thought slid into Steve's mind like a tongue, and he moaned, keeping his hips moving. He felt Bucky responding to his compliance, warming to him as the implement inside him warmed as well with the friction. The friction... Steve clutched the counter and fucked himself against it faster, desperately needing stimulation on his cock. He knew Bucky wasn't going to give it to him, and that thought paradoxically made him feel even more aroused. His entire body was flushed and sweating now.

"Stop. Turn around and kneel."

Steve stopped moving, panting. The metal fingers never left their grip on his hair, turning him around and pushing him down. He felt his eyes go wide. _But..._

_You guessed right._

Whatever it was that was penetrating Steve, Bucky wanted him to just _leave_ it there. Another wave of humiliation washed over Steve as he carefully, wincingly knelt in front of Bucky. Bucky's face was still in shadow, his mind still difficult to read. His pants were open at the front.

Bucky thrust his cock into Steve's mouth hard enough to make him gag slightly, and then did it again and again, not giving Steve time to recover. Steve's eyes watered and he felt the flush on his face deepen as he desperately huffed for breath and swallowed around Bucky's cock. He closed his eyes, feeling tears stream down the sides of his face as he sought Bucky's mind again, trying to take his own mind off of what was being done to his body. He felt as though he were floating...

Something inside of Bucky's mind was at the verge of bursting. It heaved and swelled, and then an ocean of poisonous rage and hurt and fear and helplessness flowed out of him like puss from a wound. Steve shook as it flowed through his own mind. The worst of it was the helplessness. When Steve was away, Bucky felt completely impotent, fearful for Steve and helpless to protect or help him, helpless to do anything else because _I'm only an object, an object made to fight and kill..._ Steve wanted to argue, but he was stretched to the breaking point of sensation and his own helplessness must be reflecting the way that Bucky felt while he was gone...

Bucky's body shuddered deeply and he came hard, the force of it slamming through both of their minds as he thrust and held, hips quivering. Steve, still drifting, almost felt as though it were his own orgasm. But when Bucky's body finally stopped shaking and he pulled out, Steve realized his own cock was still achingly full. His hips still wanted to twitch against the pressure of the thing inside him.

Bucky took a few deep breaths, leaning on Steve's shoulders, and then helped Steve stand up. Steve felt thoroughly disheveled now, his hair a mess, his body sweaty and desperate and violated. Bucky reached behind him and gave the implement a solid tap. Steve yelped, and Bucky smiled. Steve suspected it was the first time that he had smiled in three days. "Turn around," Bucky said softly. Steve turned, bracing himself against the counter again, and felt whatever-it-was slowly removed. The release of the pressure was so profound that he nearly sank to his knees again, groaning. But it also ached, having it gone. He felt a wild, panting desire to be filled again...

Bucky picked up the Crisco, and Steve heard the lid pop off. Steve lowered his face into his arms. He knew two things were about to happen: Bucky was about to penetrate him with metal fingers, and Bucky was also going to make him come. Both things seemed equally attractive and terrifying. He sought out Bucky's mind again, and it was calm now, but there was still a dark pressing of determination.

The penetration this time was different; it was warm and ridged and mobile and so slick that it glided into him with almost no resistance. Steve groaned with real pleasure this time, his voice muffled against his arm. The seeking penetration left him, and then almost immediately returned, far wider, stretching him... two fingers this time. He winced and tried to relax his body, which was shaking hard.

 _Touch yourself._ It was not a request.

Steve freed one arm and began to fist his own cock with the rhythm of Bucky's steely fingers. His hips moved involuntarily, pushing back and thrusting forward, and suddenly he couldn't distinguish any of the sensations, it was all just as though his entire pelvis were on fire with a mixture of pain and pleasure that he couldn't distinguish. But the pleasure was winning out. He moved his hand faster.

_No, slowly._

Steve writhed a little and obeyed, slowing his hand down. He couldn't stop his hips from pushing back though, which earned him a hard smack across one buttock. That only confused the warring sensations, and Steve's body decided that it was all pleasure, all pleasure and he was drowning in it... he rocked slowly, as Bucky wanted him to, but it didn't matter anymore, because it was all going to happen and soon...

Steve felt a sudden pulling sensation and realized that Bucky had inserted a third finger, and that was when he came. The world turned into honey and fire, and his entire body rigidified--it lasted, lasted, lasted--it released him, and he sank to his knees.

He came back to awareness with Bucky's arms around him, supporting him. Steve leaned back and let Bucky hold him. He hesitantly touched Bucky's mind, but all he felt was calm and satisfaction and a distant lingering feeling of... _Ah ha, there it is._ Bucky pressed his face into the side of Steve's neck, and whispered, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry."

Steve was undone, too relaxed and endorphin-soaked to respond properly. He grabbed the back of Bucky's head and turned to kiss him, a real kiss this time, both giving and taking. _Are you back?_

_Yes, I'm back. Are you alright?_

_I'm okay, I think._

_If I've hurt you..._

_You didn't, but you scared the hell out of me. What happened while I was gone?_

_Nothing. Absolutely nothing._ And Steve felt the weight of 72 hours worth of absolute nothing pressing him down like a boulder the size of a mountain.

_We have GOT to find you some kind of an outlet._

_I can only do one thing._

_Stop that. You are more than a killing machine._

_Are you sure I didn't hurt you?_

_I'm sure. What was it that you put... never mind. I don't want to know, but I do want you to throw it away whatever it was._

_It was just a--_

_I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW._

Bucky started laughing, and then Steve was laughing too, exhaustedly. The soreness was beginning to set in. Bucky helped him stand, and Steve looked into his eyes. They were clear and blue again. And wounded.

Steve felt a pang of fear that he couldn't conceal, and he felt an answering pang from Bucky.

_One of these days, I will hurt you._

_No, you won't._

_Don't say it couldn't happen. We were on the edge just now._ Steve felt the thought from Bucky along with a feeling of tipping, nearly falling into a bottomless black pit. _If we go there, I will never come back again._

Steve tried to think of dozens of reassuring things he could say, but none of them worked. Bucky was right. They were playing with fire, and eventually it was all going to go wrong. He pulled Bucky close and they held each other tightly, so tightly that they could feel each other's ribs. Steve caught the faint hint of a thought...

_... I will protect you, even from..._

But the thought was whisked away inside of Bucky's mind. Steve kissed him again. "So. Are you glad to see me yet?"

Bucky chuckled. "Very."

"Good, because if I recall correctly, it took you two hours to clean out the metal joins in your fingers last time we tried this, so I hope it was worth it."


End file.
